


I had a dream I got everything I wanted

by pseudobulbarism (killewich)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Killing Joke (2016)
Genre: Batjokes, Batman: The Killing Joke, Canon-Typical Behavior, M/M, Mental Instability, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, POV First Person, POV Third Person, Post-Killing Joke, Pseudobulbar!Joker, Unhealthy Relationships, baby's first batman fic pls be gentle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-20 18:56:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22548166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killewich/pseuds/pseudobulbarism
Summary: " And it feels like yesterday was a year ago, but I don't wanna let anybody know 'cause everybody wants something from me now, and I don't wanna let 'em down. "
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 16
Kudos: 27





	1. If I knew it all then would I do it again?

**Author's Note:**

> i honestly had no direction for this, i just got hit with batjokes feels while listening to billie eilish's ' everything i wanted ' and put it on repeat and cried and here we are :") also as the tags suggest i'm extremely new to the fandom so be gentle ! ! i'll put more about myself and the likes at the end, please enjoy <3
> 
> UPDATE: i ended up making this multi-chapter as a joker POV was requested, and i might explore this fic more if people are interested :3

The news is about two hours behind the comm he'd received from Oracle: _Joker escaped Arkham Asylum_.

He didn't concentrate on the way she relayed the information, doesn't have the time to deal with the 'hero complex guilt' the Dark Knight had been known to brood on for far longer than anyone should chew the fat. He needs a clear head, or at least as clear as it could get when it came to Joker.

It's a year to the date Batman'd drove the Clown Prince to the asylum. A year since the night he extended a hand:  _ let me help you _ .

He knows where to look first.

Bruce overrides Oracle's connection, but knows she could easily hijack herself back in without even breaking a sweat. He has a feeling she won't bother, but he's cautious. He has no right to tell her to stay out of this one, couldn't even have the heart to say it, but he knows it's for her best interest. He's sure it'll get the message across, and he doesn't hear her tap herself back in the entire drive. It leaves him in silence that he finds no usual comfort in. He catches himself glancing to the passenger seat at one point, only to clench his jaw and speed up.

He had swore after everything that'd happened, the yet again abandoned amusement park would have been at least scrapped, at best built up into something else. He never followed up, and now almost wishes he had. He would have done something himself, if he had needed to. He probably will after tonight, but in time. Anything too soon could raise suspicion in Wayne Enterprises.

Batman sees no sign of a vehicle around the area, but he follows his gut despite it. Maybe it was an easy guess to track the last place Joker had been, but nothing was ever easy with the criminal. This... this wasn't easy in the slightest, and he can't tell if he wants to find the other here or not. Some guilty part of him hopes not, but that was a weak cop out and meant the unstable man was off somewhere else with time on his hands and a head start; two things Joker should never be trusted with. The other part, well, it meant best for the city, right?

It was always about Gotham.

Right?

Something about seeing the circus-scape even more decrepit than it'd been before is unsettling as the weight of everything tries to settle down on his already heavy shoulders. ' _ Take a load off, Atlas, _ ' he could hear his mind echo in a random memory of the clown's manic cackle, phantom pain of a bullet in his left shoulder. He ignores it, pressing on, like he always does.

That is, until the detective reaches the spot he'd found Gordon in the cage. Bruce scowls, eyes slitting in locked up frustration that bares its ugly teeth, gnashing at him, trying to eat away at his walls built so, so high. He can feel the same guilt trip packing its bags again when Barbara had told him the news, but leaves the area and the baggage behind. Again, he needs a clear head, and doesn't have the time for it. He never has the time for this sort of thing, not when his city depends on his strength. So, like every other inconvenient issue, it's filed away back in some forgotten corner of his mind that's beginning to get quite full after all these years. Again, he doesn't have time for it, and now is certainly the last place he'd try to unpack any of it.

There's no doors to open this time, the police having busted them down when they finally caught up back then. He traverses the now dark and quiet tunnels, brain replaying fragments of the past over the crushing silence, filling his head more than the real thing had a year ago. It's harder to ignore this time around, but perhaps that's because he wasn't being attacked and hyper-focused on finding the other as he led him along. His pace is just above a walk, each step heavier the closer he gets.

' _ Last time, _ ' he mentally chides himself in warning, ' _ not now. _ '

The hero instead turns to focus on the area, grounding himself in the present, looking for any clues. His cowl provides the vision he needs to get through the dark. He comes to the same 'dead end' as before, knowing he only had one way to go from here:  _ up _ .

Somehow, he hopes it wasn't just figuratively.

Bruce grapples up to the staircase, and ascends each one with none of the difficulty he faced in the maze halls. He enters the tattered makeshift kitchen, time doing it no favors from the scuffle it'd experienced the last time guests passed through it. He doesn't bother with processing anything in it, too drawn to the window he'd broken as if by a magnet.

He doesn't need to look out it. He jumps.

Cape pooling around him gracefully once he lands on broken glass and both feet, he hesitates. His gaze is cast down at the rooftop's ground where he landed, stomach lurching at the thought of looking up. The suit feels too tight, the air feels too muggy; but for once, neither is caused by Gotham's infamous raining. He's not sure if he could handle the moment if it had been.

"Much more graceful landing than last time, eh?"

He doesn't need to look up. He doesn't even want to.

"Makes me wonder how you made it here," Bruce manages through a suddenly very dry throat.

"Took the stairs," comes the distant reply that he can tell isn't facing him. He does manage to catch the stifled giggle before the rest comes out, "Y'nno, like a normal person."

Joker always seemed to ruin his own punchlines. Though, there's no laughter from either end after it's delivered.

Batman almost wishes he had the comfort of that from last time when he finally looks up.

The Clown Prince is standing on the edge of the roof just ahead of view, almost perfectly aligned. He's still in his Arkham rags, and that alone is enough to make the Dark Knight rise to his feet so fast he's heard atop crunching glass and the crackle of his cape fighting the wind with the movement. It doesn't make the other move at all, however, and now Bruce has three reasons to fight worry in a way he feels he has no right to feel.

Yet another thing to shove into that piling up corner.

Feelings were something the detective failed to specialize in, his own mental psyche a war zone of unsettled issues suppressed and mostly forgotten, but it didn't take a genius to tell the situation was delicate. His usual brute force and gruff demeanor of the vigilante name he hid under would be a bull in a China shop that was the current moment. He wasn't sure if even Bruce Wayne would be any help either.

So, where was that hand he offered a year ago with such confidence?

Joker finally breaks the silence with a sudden burst of a laugh, it raw and ragged, the kind he had that took over his whole body as if possessed. The kind that he always struggled to stifle and choke down, the one that betrayed anything of humor.

He sways and loses his balance, and Batman's running to him faster than he's ever felt himself move, yet the world seems to slow down in that way it does right before something terrible happens.

Like a mother cat grabbing the nape of a troubled kitten, his fist grabs a handful of orange and pulls as soon as it latches onto enough to get any leverage. It's thankfully enough to support the lithe form and tug him backwards, the movement also apparently enough to sober the clown out of his fit. He lands on his ass, the hero heaving a breath through lungs that had been held hostage until the sickly white man was grounded again.

Bruce wants to yell. He wants to scream, punch, kick; all he knows how to do. He doesn't know anything else with the Kevlar on, and given the circumstances, probably all Bruce would know too. But, he knows that's not what's needed now. Just like a year ago: ' _ by the book, _ ' echoes through his head.

But what book did one use for the Joker? Wasn't that the million dollar question that any psychiatrist at Arkham would love to crack?

Again, he takes too long to respond, and a laugh fills the silence. This episode is much louder and even worse, his body moving in spasms, convulsing with the heaving and choking, and he almost looked as if he were having a seizure. Bruce can't watch any more, finally moving in. He knows better than to try and suppress the fit, but he does take care to move his hand protectively to assure the man wouldn't crack his own head against the asphalt. He tries to help right the other into a sitting position, eerily silent in comparison. He isn't opposed in the slightest, and instead, it seems to be the exact thing needed to settle the man down.

Joker hacks up something to the side, saliva dribbled out of the side of his mouth and tears at the corners of his eyes, still clutching on desperately. The sound is slowly lulled out of him as he comes back to his senses, little giggles and snorts the end of it. He draws in a long breath, the shaking stopping, and soon, he's as cognitive as he can be... which doesn't seem anywhere close to normal.

Well, normal for Joker.

Bruce slowly removes himself, knowing he had to preserve any sense of ego in the other if he wanted to deal with the most sane version of the clown he could get. But, he's stopped by a desperate grasp, it tugging him back into place. So, he complies, going back to a knee, a hand behind a green head, the other on his orange chest. He doesn't even think to question it, and some part of his brain reasons it's to make sure the episode is over.

But Joker isn't laughing anymore.

He swallows, mouth impossibly dry still. It's then he thinks is the best time to try what he hopes will do anything. It was a stupid idea, thrown together on his way here with the impossible silence around him, but he had to try. He draws the hand from Joker's chest, it careful to not move suddenly. Their eyes are locked as if in a contest, and Bruce can't seem to move anything else but the hand that reaches into a utility pouch. It draws out a small flashlight, and he holds it out in offering, breaking the contact and losing the unannounced staring contest. Blown, barely visible green ones follow after some hesitation to the item.

Bruce braces for another episode, it the reason why he thought it best to try now or never.

But it doesn't come.

The white hand around his wrist releases slowly to take it, and he smirks as he looks it over like some toy. He considers the flashlight for a long moment, then, almost as if he couldn't possibly help himself given the opportunity, turns it on and flashes Batman right in the eyes.

He cackles as Bruce pulls away to guard his eyes with a disgruntled sound.

"Seriously," the hero sighs, exasperated and tired. At least the clown seemed to be back to himself... for better or worse.

' _ For better, _ ' he decides, ' _ for now. _ '

"C'mon, Batsy, you should'a  _ seen _ that one comin'."

Bruce gets up and leaves Joker to his own devices, rolling onto his back and kicking his feet, laughing childishly, like he just told the best joke in the world.

And honestly, he's almost able to laugh along just like last time. He's almost as emotionally exhausted and caught off guard, but this time is different.  _ Much _ .

Again, he offers his hand to help the other up.

Instead, he feels the flashlight being pressed into his palm before its old owner retracts as if burnt. Bruce can immediately feel the tension, and he's confused. He thought everything was fine, it was going by  _ good _ by their standards. He searches for an answer by glancing to the pale face.

Looking him in the eyes was a mistake.

Joker looks straight through him, piercing, scowling ever so slightly, like his lips didn't know how to do anything but smile.

If only that were true.

"I can appreciate a good callback, but I don't want your pity again on our little anniversary."

"Then why are you here?"

That wasn't the right question, apparently. All at once, the smaller form rises and lunges. Thankfully, his nails are trimmed, but they still sting digging into his only exposed flesh just beside his mouth.

' _ By the book, _ ' he repeats, and again, allows the other to lash out what he assumes is quite a lot of pent up emotions. That much he can understand,  _ again _ .

He takes several punches to the face, chest, stomach, and then they all stop as the other falls to his knees in front of him, breath ragged and body already seemingly worn. But, that's not why he stops.

Joker wraps his arms around legs, hands lost in the cape in fistfuls, before a broken sound croaks out of his throat. He headbutts knees weakly where his legs pool uselessly beside him, eventually in a sitting position. No tears come, but instead that same, haunting laugh that always meant anything but humor.

Bruce is at a complete loss. Pain, fighting; those were things he understood, could handle. But this? He was nowhere near equipped for anything like this, let alone from Joker of all people.

The clown's headbutts devolve into just resting his head there, pressing in, arms as tight as they could be. The episode doesn't last nearly as long as the others, but it seems it came just in time to stop him from actually breaking into tears... at least from what Bruce can tell. ' _ Defense mechanism? _ ' he deduces to himself, there still no proven cause to the spells.

His chest hurts. He's confused. He doesn't know what to do. He wonders if the other feels the same way... but he thinks it safe to not ask. Joker's ego was obviously in shambles by now, and any signs of pity or attempts to console would only do more harm.

So, he does the only thing he can think to do.

Batman removes the communication device from his ear, despite having locked everyone out before he left the car. He crushes it in his palm, and drops it into a pouch.

And then, he  _ laughs _ .

It's small and intended to rouse the body below him, hopefully enough to get him a nasty look. He's pretty sure it'll do the trick, and just as predicted, he gets his intended results.

So, he repays the favor from earlier: he shines the light into Joker's eyes.

A heavy moment passes, and Bruce feels his muscles tense in anticipation.

Though, unlike he, instead of shielding his eyes, Joker reaches up into the beam, seemingly mesmerized.  Batman immediately catches on, as if everything suddenly made sense. What it was? He honestly had no clue, it was as if something took over him. He had no time to fight instinct.

He reaches his free hand down into the beam, meeting the waiting hand at the halfway point.

_Halfway across_.

He isn't sure why, body on autopilot, but he grasps onto that hand as if their lives depended on it. And honestly, they just might.

Bruce feels the other try to tug away, but only strengthens the hold. When he feels the resistance stop, he then begins pulling upwards gently. His reward for acting on instinct is the fragile body below him slowly making his way onto his feet with the help of their still connected hands, making sure to keep them dead center in the light's beam. He continues to softly guide upwards until Joker is standing in front of him, their hands touching the end of the light, snuffing it out.

He waits a beat, not sure what to say. He's afraid of losing the opportunity again like he had so many times that night... but maybe there was nothing to say. Maybe he wasn't meant to say anything. Maybe... just maybe...

"You didn't turn it off," comes a quiet, dazed reply. Joker looks everywhere but Batman.

"No," he asserts, voice a bit softer than usual. Perhaps just as dazed, if not more. "No, I didn't, and I still haven't."

"Well, that's not how the joke goes," the clown offers with what sounds like a smirk. He still can't see his face, but he knows it's there.  But, it doesn't last. "Then again, you never really got my jokes, did'ja, sweets?"

It's a test. A test he needs to pass, or he loses everything right here. He's come too far tonight to lose all this progress. More progress than he's ever made, hell, probably anyone's ever accomplished. While that should feel good, it feels  _ nasty _ and  _ guilty _ . It wasn't supposed to be about some competition... It was... It was supposed to be about someone finally _caring_.

About  _ Joker _ .

Not  _ Gotham _ .

"I'd say I understood the one that counted a year ago." His eyes look to the flashlight, still muted by their joined hands.

Finally, finally; Joker looks at him, "I 'unno, I thought ya just really wanted to hold my hand, babe." He flutters his lashes, snorting over a laugh he failed to hold back.

The expectation would be Batman's usual gruff deflection; dropping the flashlight and the hand below it, huffing and moving back to business... but he surprises both of them instead.

Bruce moves his fingers so their hands laced together instead, face stoic, not giving anything away. He waits several heartbeats, then cocks his head to side eventually, finally cracking a smirk.

"Who knows, maybe both."


	2. I wanna make you mine, but that's hard to say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " Letting go, letting go; telling you things you already know. I explode, I explode; asking you where you want us to go. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got the request for joker's pov and for more, so i'm here to deliver ! ! i'm really happy to have gotten such a positive response ( none of my other fandom work ever took off so fast, AHH sobs )
> 
> just in case it's not obvious, the first chapter ( i changed the originally one-off to become multi-chaptered . . . maybe there will be more if y'all want it ! ! ) was bruce's POV, despite being third person. for whatever reason, despite having not wrote first-person POV in YEEEEEEEARS, joker's muse demanded it, so, well . . . i complied and here we are :") i imagine him being much more of a mastermind than he leads on, the majority of his joking and antics simply an act: everything is a show. so, that's why it might seem much more sophisticated than one would expect joker to be. plus, given the circumstances, he's . . . not really himself ( hopefully it doesn't seem too ooc or something HHHH ). y'all wanted angst, and here it is <3
> 
> also, since i normally use music for inspiration ( despite the overarching fic being based on billie eilish's ' everything i wanted ' ), i recommend melanie martinez's ' training wheels ' (  
> hence the lyrics for the title/summary ) for this one if you like pairing music while you read :")

The escape part was always easiest. It was 'where to go next part' that oft troubled me. Sure, I usually had plenty of time before each breakout to plan extensively, but once you're actually free... well, it's a little easy to get distracted.

Perhaps ' _a little_ ' was an understatement.

It felt so incredibly nice to be welcomed back into the bosom of the gloomy city's arms, she ever-patiently awaiting my next return. Gotham needed me, and she knew it.

If only a certain _Bat_ accepted this as easily as she.

And, oh, that particular Bat was just what made this escape so distracting. I had a handful of ideas, only several plans passing enough to execute (one could never be too prepared... five steps ahead was a good distance, easy to keep track of on one hand and still have one free). I was quite aware of the exact date of my self-assigned parole, and I knew that the day wouldn't be lost on those who dealt with the case back then too. I counted on it, even.

So, why did I find myself, despite all of my plans, still in my Arkham's best, returning to that damned amusement park like a drugged zombie?

I never liked to pick my own brain much; it resulted in unsavory results. I usually let it run as it pleased, unfiltered, never stopping to ask the ' _why_ 's or ' _how_ 's. It's much more interesting that way, kept me fresh and on my toes with my own self: unpredictable, even to me. Maybe that was an advantage against any mind-reading types, but it was definitely only on purpose for the fact my improv tended to produce a better show than one tied down to a script. Surprising even myself was thrilling, and made my next move a mystery to everyone involved.

However, returning to the scene of a 'crime' committed exactly a year ago felt _too_ predictable, even for me.

Though, maybe that was just the right amount of predictable that it wouldn't sound like me. I had no plans here, and nothing would be leftover after the coppers cleaned it out (and somehow left the redecorating in better tastes than myself, I was surprised to see the place still here). I would have no reason to turn up here again, and even knowing that didn't seem to stop me. I was drawn to it as if by a siren, taking over my legs and hijacking my cognition. I felt like a stolen vehicle, and usually I would dislike such a controlling feeling... but, I had unfinished business here. Business with the only person who seemed to simultaneously know me better than myself, and almost as if not all.

_He would come, I was more than sure of it._

I take my time reacquainting myself with the circus, knowing I had at least an hour before they'd figure me out missing publicly. Perhaps only fifteen minutes at best before Batsy. Only partial and muted fingerprints are left in my wake, the good majority of them all damaged by my little dive all those years ago, as I drag my hand almost nostalgically across walls and mirrors. The streaks in the dust are probably more useful than my fingerprints, but I didn't care about leaving evidence.

_He would come, before the police even smashed together the brain cells to try to retrace my steps._

Locating the stairwell that lead to that fateful rooftop was easy enough to remember (even if it happened to not exactly be the way I'd ended up here last time). My eyes scour the area before I step out, it the least changed place out of the entire park. A little smirk forms at that. Perfect. A rendezvous with deja vu, how poetic.

_He would come, he always did._

On my way out, I catch myself being drawn to the broken glass. I can feel the neurons, the little bastards, shooting off in a billion different, distracting ways. So many thoughts and urges take holdt, but I refuse. None of them would please me in any fashion now. _Hmm_ , almost a depressing thought. Normally broken glass was fun to play with!

In hindsight, maybe that should have been my first (or perhaps second, I wasn't keeping track) sign tonight would go in any direction but what I decided. Then again, I never anticipated such a thing. I always got my way in the end, somehow, even if I had to change my end goal as I went... it helped being flexible.

I rise back to my feet, dropping a shard I don't recall collecting. It makes a nice sound falling from the height I let go at, and it's about the only sound against the horribly quiet ambience of creaks and groans coming from the worn amusement park through the occasional gust of wind.

In a way, I find myself relating to the atmosphere more than a clown should, but quickly discard the thought.

Now, _to wait_. My patience is a fickle thing, especially when it came to Bats. Of course, we all love the feeling of instant gratification, and I was no exception; almost painfully so. At times I'd even been known for my tantrums at waiting too long on the Dark Knight, but even more chilling were the times I waited eerily still and calm. The latter was my demeanor for the night.

I have enough time to plan a few jokes and even hold an engaging conversation with myself that had started with the concept of time and ended up in a heated debate against which flavor of salt water taffy was the best. Maybe I'd get a second opinion from Batsy.

And ah, speak of the devil, and he shall descend gracefully from a window from above.

I don't bother turning around, I know it's him. Anyone else would loudly announce who they were, taking the fun away from a guessing game. Though, the biggest question currently was when I'd moved to stand at the edge of the rooftop... maybe during my taffy dispute my pacing landed me here? Who knows.

I do the honors of a warm hello. "Much more graceful landing than last time, eh?" It's oddly less humored than I intended, but I suppose my mind was a little busy at the moment. Many trains of thought, but so few tracks... always seemed to cause quite the wreck, and could possibly be the answer for my odd rapid cycling of topics. But what did I know, I wasn't a doctor, nor did I care much to justify any of my actions. Too much self-awareness left me predictable, boring.

"Makes me wonder how you made it here," I hear him counter in a much gruffer tone than his usual. Curious, I would have to pay much more attention than usual tonight if I wanted to make the most out of it. A fine distraction from my currently disobedient brain, anyway.

"Took the stairs," I say to the wind, preoccupied with looking down and gauging if the drop would be fatal. My own little giggle brings me back to the moment, and I realize it was a fine enough joke on its own, but I needed to make a point. Just like my last did a year ago. Sure, the quip would suffer in spite of it, but again, my point: there always some sort of truth hidden in every joke. "Y'nno, like a normal person." In this case, the lack of; that was the real joke.

As expected, no laugh. I almost sigh, but settle for rolling my eyes. Figures. How could I fall for a guy who never even laughed at my jokes? I could count on a single hand the amount of times I'd reaped such a fine crop from tall, dark, and broody. Sure, a chuckle here or there might break the big bad bat shtick, but it wasn't as if we had an audience now. Then again, I guess the more rewarding it was the less I received. But oh, that laugh I had so beautifully relished in three hundred sixty-five days ago still haunts me in the best ways... gooseflesh rises just at the vivid memory of it. I didn't often keep much in the good ol' memory bank, but this was something I couldn't help but place in my savings. I cashed it out so often, and it never lost its touch. How desperately I craved that closeness that coupled it, the hands on my chest as he carried on even after I'd stopped; stopped mostly because I couldn't dare ruin such a gorgeous thing with my own manic sounds.

It was pathetic how much I hung onto every word, movement, touch; any sense at all, even the faint scents at times. I craved stimulation to the point of overload when it came to my Batsy. I wanted to drown in everything that was he to the point of tears. Fuck, I would even cry for him on command if he wanted and would thank him if he berated me for my over-eager loyalty. Did he even realize what power he had over me? He had to have some inkling, but was he in denial? I'm sure he had quite the power trip in him, tucked away deep, deep inside... oh, I knew somewhere in the dark depths of the masked vigilante he was hiding a lot more than his face. It was just bringing it out, and being the only one to puppeteer it from him. That's what this all was for, all along, after all. Even if it ended in an untimely death.

Knowing I undid Batman was the only thing I truly wanted.

I'm not too sure what had triggered it, perhaps such an in-depth dive into my personal psyche or the deafening, tense silence, but suddenly I felt my breath torn away in a vicious tug of a forced out laugh. Very inconvenient, given my current location, but there's no time to stop the episode before it takes over. It's a strong one, my chest heaving to keep up with the next howl of everything but amusement. It's hard to focus, brain blurring especially once I feel myself slip forward and lose my balance. I faintly remember referring to falling for my dearest Bats, but it seemed to always work both meanings. This does nothing to soothe the fit, and I close my eyes.

Again, it wouldn't be fatal. Shame, really.

I can't tell if my heart flutters or sinks at the feeling of being flug backwards so hard I don't even trip over myself to land on my ass back atop the roof, unharmed. I'd be lying if I said it was unexpected, too many years of purposely putting myself in danger just to test how far the hero would go to save his damsel of a nemesis. It's _conflicting_ : on one hand, it always feels like a migration of butterflies every time he saves me, but there's some depraved little part that wonders when he would fail to, leaving me waiting, waiting, only to be let down and dying with perhaps maybe the first feeling of genuine panic in my new life (it'd be a shame to miss the reaction of his failure, but worth the cost of feeling something so interestingly raw).

The laughing subsides, the slight shock enough to bring me back, a sole hiccup the sign of its reign over. I expect the usual yelling, accusations of doing it on purpose or how stupid I was to be standing there in the first place, perhaps even a small spark of rage that would lead him to simply punch me wordlessly that'd be the catalyst for a fight. I can feel my skin tense in preparation, almost salivating at the thought of a tussle; multiple deities alone knowing how desperate I was to feel something again after an entire year. Only my sweet knight could make me feel, really feel after my bath. Everything between the acid and treatments at Arkham left me muted, but with Batsy? No, no, I felt so many things!

_But nothing comes_.

If I had the current stability to feign a show of disappointment, I would voice something. However, as soon as my mouth opens, the episode from painfully long, silent moments ago comes back with a vengeance. It chokes me, the force more than my throat's prepared for. After a croak of what would have been words, I break into one of the worst fits I've probably ever had; my vocal chords are a haunting chorus of laughs and muted sounds of resistance, brain blanking out uselessly past the fight-or-flight response to continue breathing in my lack of control. Whole body overwhelmed with the phantom of giggles puppeteering me, I almost miss out on the feeling of gloved hands settling behind my head and against my shuddering form. I can't even move to appreciate these, but it doesn't go unnoticed. Not in the slightest.

If anything, it actually seems to pacify the invisible strings and hold over my lungs and throat. Interesting, I'd have to experiment more with this at some point... as if I could control it at all. But, _maybe_ , with this discovery...

I blink several times, noting the damp feeling that almost turns to tears. I'm grateful they don't, spitting out mixed mucus and saliva I'd worked up that had nearly threatened to choke me. Had I gone on any longer, it might have actually gotten serious. Episode exhausted, only a few more giggles and sounds make their way out, it strays only a few moments more. Finally, I gasp loudly, it the only sign I've yet again come back to my body as the owner.

_And with that comes the realization I'm being held in a sitting position by the other_.

It's impossibly distracting. My brain, already having been slightly numbed, doesn't exactly come back online just yet. My eyes are still glassy and blown, adrenaline dying down. They're feelings I normally recover from with ease and quickly, as acquainted and used to this sort of thing as one could be by now... but with the added stimuli of touch I'm so accustomed to equaling pain being the exact opposite?

If I had to simplify it, confusion and mild frustration are the two identifiable emotions are in the boiling, brewing mix of what could be just explosive enough to lash out.

_So why do I reach out to keep it when it starts to disappear_?

As proven already, trying to pick my own brain isn't exactly the safest, or something I enjoy. Instead, I simply close my eyes for a few beats longer than a blink and absorb whatever sensations I'm still trying to process. I stop trying to understand it, and focus purely on that in an abstract way, _the love of my life is holding me_ , and ignore everything else. I almost feel placated when I peel back everything else and look at the raw simplicity of the fact. _Nothing else matters right now_ , I decide.

Perhaps that's why I handle what happens next so well given everything.

I feel a hand remove itself from my chest, and my stupor is broken ever so slightly. It's enough to cause me to search out his eyes that are already focused on me. Once locked, I don't even blink, and for once tonight actually appreciate the silence. It feels like hours pass before he glances down, and I can't help but follow his new focus after realizing the change.

The moment grows tense from Bats's anticipation alone, myself too enveloped in my stare on the object offered to me: _a flashlight_.

My other hand currently focused on some attempt to be any semblance of personal balance, I opt to release the armored wrist to take what I assume is a gift. I wet my lips as I assess everything, and in the end, I'm unable to fight the smirk that grows. _Impressive_ , the job-focused vigilante actually managed to remember something that didn't deal with anything directly work related, and from my joke a year ago, nonetheless. It's almost _cute_ , really.

So, obviously I had to save face before the moment got too comfortable and sappy. I take aim and fire: the beam is shot directly into his eyes.

It's enough to ruin any adorable moment we could have had ( _why did I have to be such a masochist?_ ), and I burst into laughter at his reaction. 

"Seriously," Batman huffs, it barely a question.

He's obviously just a bit frustrated, having probably hoped for some soft moment to settle the night on to put his conscience to rest before throwing my ass back into the asylum, but, whatever the intentions, _honestly_? I couldn't pass up the opportunity, or the joke that's so blatantly left open for me.

"C'mon, Batsy, you should'a _seen_ that one comin'."

He gets up and had he been holding me, he probably would have just dropped me. He essentially was, keeping me upright, and as soon as his presence no longer has a say in how my body should stay, I roll onto my back with yowling giggles. My feet even kick, surely having gotten a _kick_ out of it all.

Though, that all comes to an abrupt halt when he offers his hand to me. I look at it, really scrutinize it, and my stomach lurches in a pang of irritation that grows into a swirling, blazing rage that threatens to boil over.

So, _despite it all_ , a year later, he didn't learn a _damn thing_ while I _rotted_ away in the asylum? After all these years, I don't know why I'm even asking myself that. It was hopeless, and I only have myself to blame at this point.

Instead of taking his offer the second time around, I again deny it by pushing the flashlight into his palm to replace what was expected to be a hand. Before he even has a chance to snatch up my hand and somehow change my mind, I pull my hand back as fast as I can. My mind was made up by that action alone, and I refused to let myself fall for anything else. I couldn't. _I can't let it._ It _almost_ worked last time, and despite how desperate I am to actually believe him, I have to preserve.

Why does this hurt so bad? It's not as if he even did anything wrong, really, it's the same old Batsy I knew and loved, and I should expect it. His 'offer' was still apparently on the table, but it was the _why_ . I knew it wasn't an offer with _me_ in mind, it was an offer for _Gotham_.

Oh, what a cruel mistress this city was. She always would win my man over without even trying. As much as I loved her, this was something I could never forgive Gotham for. She never did truly love me back, regardless of whatever I deluded myself with.

I guess that made _two_.

Coming here was a fucking _stupid_ mistake, and I don't even care if he hauls my skinny ass off to the passenger seat of the Batmobile now. I wear all of the pain and frustration as much as I can handle showing, face fitted so raw that I hate the feeling of it. I never liked showing any real emotions; I was an actor after all.

His reaction only pisses me off further: he really thought a dumb little gift and a sign of some semblance of not wanting me to become injured twice would win me over, just like that? I grit out, trying to maintain myself still, "I can appreciate a good callback, but I don't want your pity again on our little anniversary."

There's no pause to even consider any other words in his voice as he asks in return, "Then why are you here?"

And just as he took no time to weigh his response, I take no time in mine. I'm on my feet before I can even realize it, a hand swiping with blunt nails at his face. No sounds leave me now, and I can only voice everything I want to say with fists. I might be a man with a silvertongue, but only broken fragments and anger would spill out if I cared to try.

I lose count of how many times I'm simply allowed to wail on him, and it feels no different than a year again. _The same treatment_ , just letting me lash out. History was continuing to just repeat itself, and before I can tell, I'm devolving into the uglier side of what I'm trying to hide under all the aggression. We both only have known fighting and the pain as a result of it, but anything else, including our own emotions, are always suppressed and locked up.

This time, I can't keep the barricade closed, and the dam _breaks_.

Breathing mostly affected by my allowed assault on the man in front of me, it takes everything and more to not let it betray anything else. Though, I know by now I'm an open book, and my display doesn't help at all. I pool at his knees, everything moving too fast and blurry, and my body acts on its own. I don't even care to stop it.

I wrap my arms around his legs as if I'd never let go, grabbing fistfuls of the cape to keep my hands occupied. As if trying to keep up some semblance of fight, I beat my head against his knees. The action is harmless to both of us, it too weak of a hit to do much of anything, and too that stops eventually. I actually feel as if I might cry, but before it happens, my cursed laughing fit cuts me off and actually manages to do me good for once. I'm done holding back by now, I let it ride out, feeling layers and layers of ego, pride, and masks peel away. There's no point.

_There's no point_.

I'm _raw_ and _bare_ at his feet, showing just how broken I truly am, and in action, even a slave to the parasitic laugh that I can't even win against.

I know this moment will haunt me for the rest of my years. All my new life I've spent trying to break the man who rebirthed me, and here, with a simple, wordless offer of his hand to fix me showed just how badly I needed it. Self-pity is masked by the end of a surprisingly short fit, and I can feel myself tighten around his legs as I return to the mess I'd briefly vacationed from. Small gasps for air are all I am now, feeling numb. I almost appreciate the numbness, it's worlds better than anything just expressed.

And when I go mostly silent, the end of my show is punctuated with a _laugh_ that is not my own.

This is the applause I get for putting myself on display so openly and raw? A _laugh_? Had I not been so pained and exhausted already, I might actually appreciate the irony of it. I glare daggers for everything I'm worth up at the man for the audacity, this my only movement.

Instead of finding some cocky mug as expected, I meet the blinding beam of a flashlight. It's almost sobering in some mesmerizing way, and I feel everything wash away as I bathe in the light. It's enough of a distraction to soothe everything for the time being. And, thoughtlessly, I reach up through the middle of it, as if testing if I would phase through it or not.

' _Let me help you._ '

Well, it seemed the ol' detective was onto something. Maybe, just maybe he might have _listened_ to me, and actually _heard_ something for once. Again, there was always some little nougaty treat of truth in every joke.

I hold my hand at the halfway mark of the beam, and wait; this my last attempt to be _understood_.

There's almost zero hesitation for a reaction. A gloved hand meets mine, and grabs onto it. 

_Finally._

I can't even begin to explain the explosion that goes off in my head. So many thoughts, feelings, memories... it's almost too much to handle. But it's _good_.

Last test. I test his hold, trying to pull out of his grasp, putting up a pretty good fight considering how tightly he refuses to let me go. I only do this for so long, long enough to get the reassurance I need.

_This will not be easy. I will fight every step of the way. This is my final warning._

He never falters, and even fights back. I finally give, having all I need at this point. He begins to help me to my feet, and the _symbolism_ of everything, it all from my stupid joke from a year ago, I know this time he _truly gets it_ . And _means_ it. The reward is no more fighting, and I allow him guide me up, up, up until our hands meet the flashlight and I'm standing again.

It's a lot to take in, finally being _understood_ through all my cryptic jokes and masks. I always knew we were made for one another, but I was just waiting for him to finally agree. To understand me the way I understood him. We both knew each other so well, but I finally felt as if that were true. It wasn't just knowing each other as criminal and hero, it was... Well, it was knowing one another on a personal level. Below the masks.

Bats was awfully quiet tonight, but it was okay. I normally did enough talking for the two of us. And this time, instead of filling that silence with another episode, I speak, knowing I will be heard.

"You didn't turn it off."

"No. No, I didn't, and still haven't."

Oh, _be still_ , my beating heart. A stupid smirk spreads across my face, "Well, that's not how the joke goes." A beat.

No more tests, here was the exam. I force the smirk out of my tone, eyes still having not met his ever since his laugh. One last little cryptic piece to finish the whole picture, "Then again, you never really got my jokes, did'ja, sweets?"

_Pass the class, Batsy, please pass._

"I'd say I understood the one that counted a year ago."

Oh, I could kiss the big oaf right then and there. _Pinch me_ , this had to be the longest dream of my life. I sigh ever so softly under my breath, it a quiet sound of so much relief and the release of tension and nerves. I look to him, finding his eyes pull from our hands to meet my gaze. _The big bear_ , I'd squeeze him. "I 'unno, I thought ya just really wanted to hold my hand, babe." I flutter my lashes, the playfulness lost in the genuine laugh that bubbles out of me. I don't care. _I don't care_ , I have what I've wanted for so painfully long. My chest aches in the best way, squeezing his hand ever so gently, as if I was shy. Sure, I laid on the flirts and innuendos pretty thick, but look what I was working with! Look how long it took the great detective to finally understand me. He was denser than poundcake! But, I was still unsure how far his understanding went. There were different levels of care, and I still needed convincing.

And, as if he could read my mind, he repositions his hand from simply grabbing onto mine as if he'd grabbed it while I was falling, to lace our fingers together.

My ears burn, and I could just melt away right then, but that's not all. No, he the damn bastard cocks his head to the side with a smirk that makes me feel like putty. And he's still not done!

"Who knows, maybe both."

I almost cry, and I don't understand why. It's... a bittersweet feeling, not quite happy or sad, and I'm trying to prepare as if it'll all stop at any moment, crumbling away and out of grasp. That he'll realize what he's done and take it back, or drop a punchline or, or _something_. He can't be serious. It has to be a trick, he has to be playing me, despite passing every test, the exam, the whole damn class...

But, _first_ , I have an argument to settle.

"Peppermint or cotton candy?"

**Author's Note:**

> so, i've been sneakin' around the fandom since i watched joker 2019, my gateway drug into the whole batman thing . . . at the time i was pretty deep into another fandom so i mostly tried pushing off any interest in joker and batman as a whole. then, the harley quinn animated series happened and i've been reading comics, watching cartoons and animations, movies, playing the games . . . i've been completely infatuated and excited to share a big, expansive interest with my hubby ! ! i'm still relatively new, only been around since about december, in the shadows. but finally cracked, i had to do something for this fandom and i'm not very good at drawing humans ( let alone shippy stuff ) and i'm tired of hiding ! ! i wanna embrace the fandom and learn more and hopefully make a few pals :")
> 
> so far here's what i've experienced ( in order based off my memory, i will be updating this as i go ! ! ):  
> joker 2019 ( you'll never forget your first joker . . . ), the harley quinn animated cartoon ( currently up to date! ), the harleen comic ( this is where i REALLY got into joker ), the dark knight ( only the first so far ), several of the og animated cartoons, the killing joke animation ( i got the comic recently, haven't read it yet tho . . . but so far this seems to be my favorite take on him ( hence this fic being based on it ) ! ! ), arkham asylum and started arkham city, the lego batman movie, the entire telltale series ( only one ending tho, i got vigilante joker bcos batjokes brainworms ), brian azzarello/lee bermejo's joker comic, and recently, gotham ( the live action show, we're currently on ep 5 )
> 
> i plan on next reading the white knight ( the og first ), but i'm waiting for the collective version to come out . . . if anyone has any suggestions of what i should get into next i'll totally take 'em, it's been a blast having SO MUCH BEAUTIFUL CONTENT to indulge in ;w;
> 
> tho . . . fandom-wise, i've not read a lot of fanfics or found much fanart past tumblr and twitter searches ( like i said, sneaking around the fandom, very shy . . . ) but i DO have to give major props to Dracze on here for their BEAUTIFUL take on post-killing joke in ' halfway across ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/5795281 ) ' . . . ugh, it's so good, i really can't get enough of it and i'm so eager for an update ;w; again, feel free to give me some suggestions ! !
> 
> also, as far as makin' friends, if anyone wants to chat, i'm still learning this site, but i made a fandom account over on twitter: https://twitter.com/pseudobulbarism ! ! feel free to hmu :3 otherwise, feel free to leave comments ! ! i normally write AS joker/joker pov ( i rp . . . ), so picking bruce's brain is a little new to me and something i thought would suit this better . . . maybe if there's enough interest i might write more, maybe do something with this in joker's pov . . . let me know what y'all'd like to see ! ! <3
> 
> also, there's an easter egg referring to one of my works on here, anyone find it? maybe i'll give a lil' treat like a request for batjokes for it or something, hehe ! !


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